Silent Night
by ajm1
Summary: Jack can't handle the quiet. (Post-Season 1)


_DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Fox, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. Set between seasons 1 and 2 of '24', spoilers for the former._

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**Silent Night**

by Alicia McKenzie 

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He'd gotten into the habit of leaving the TV on when he was in the apartment, just for white noise. Silence was something Jack Bauer couldn't cope with at all. Not that he was coping very well in general - something his daughter would certainly agree with, if she were here - but silence was still a trigger. It took him back to kneeling on the floor of CTU's transformer room, his wife's body in his arms. The silence had been deafening then, too. 

So he needed the noise. It didn't matter what. News, sports, sitcoms. The weather channel. Fucking soap operas. It all washed over him, sound without meaning, without edges. He could lie on the couch and listen, let it insulate him from his own thoughts. Better than sleeping. Than dreaming.

A few words surfaced out of the haze. "--President-elect Palmer spent the day visiting patients at Children's National Medical Center. Palmer attended the hospital's annual Christmas party, and afterwards, had a few words to say about funding for--"

Palmer. Jack sat up slowly, blinking at the TV. The man whose life he'd saved twice on that endless, horrible day was smiling broadly as he spoke to reporters at the hospital. A photo-op, Jack thought with a flicker of interest. The typical sort of thing a politician did, especially at the holidays. Though David Palmer wasn't your typical politician.

Jack had even roused himself to vote for the man, mostly because Kim had been here that week and he'd sensed she'd needed to see him going through the motions of everyday life. Not that she'd been fooled by it, of course. His little girl might be quite the trouble magnet - something she'd inherited from him, no doubt - but she was far from stupid. And he'd been too tired to make the facade convincing. Ironic, when so much of his professional life had been all about wearing one mask or another.

Jack stared fixedly at the image of Palmer's face. Not listening, just watching. There weren't many visible changes in the man, even after the rigors of the campaign. He suspected that Palmer was probably the one who'd shielded him from the consequences of some of his more questionable actions that day. Someone had certainly intervened on his behalf. Otherwise, he'd have been up on charges for emptying his gun into Victor Drazen on the docks that night, mitigating circumstances or not.

Palmer had been at the funeral, too.

Jack swallowed and fumbled for the remote as that safe, undemanding numbness threatened to recede. Time to change the channel, find something more innocuous.

On the next channel was a Christmas concert, a children's choir. Jack stopped, part of him caught by the smiles on the young faces, the innocent enthusiasm. They were good, too. He'd always had something of an ear for music, and he could tell. As he listened, they finished up a rousing version of 'O Come All Ye Faithful' in Latin, and then, after a pause for the audience's applause, moved smoothly into 'Silent Night'.

Teri had loved this song. Jack's jaw clenched and he blinked rapidly, trying to will the memories away. Triggers. Triggers everywhere he turned, no matter how he tried to avoid them.

He had an eidetic memory. Part training, part natural ability, and incredibly valuable on the job. He'd never dreamed it would turn into a curse.

Christmas Eve. Ten years ago. He could close his eyes and summon up the memory, as clear and vivid as if he was reliving it.

A six year-old Kim in her new red Christmas dress, standing with the other children at the front of the church and singing 'Silent Night'--too loudly, but joyfully. His daughter, who'd been fearless, even then. 

Teri, beaming as she sat beside him in the pew. She'd leaned over to whisper in his ear that they should have brought the camcorder. Then she'd reached out to take his hand, and--

A stab of anguish sliced through that moment of remembered happiness, shattering it, and Jack flipped the TV off, almost without thinking. The apartment was plunged suddenly into near-silence, the only sound the noise of his own harsh breathing.

His eyes moved of their own accord across the room, locking on one particular drawer. The urge to get up and go over there, to open it, was almost overpowering. The shrink he saw twice monthly at Division's insistence didn't know about the drawer, which was probably a good thing.

It had two things in it. A picture of him and Teri and Kim, and a gun. He opened it sometimes, to test himself. Every time, he'd wound up reaching for the picture, rather than the gun.

So far, at least.

He reached for the phone instead. He might have called Kim, if their last conversation hadn't ended so badly. But it had, and that narrowed his options. Impulse made him dial a number he'd committed to memory back when the world had made sense. Not that he'd ever had the opportunity to use it, but there had been a time when he'd wanted to be able to reach his people at any time, in case of emergency. Even if he had to call them at home. Even if the person in question didn't like him very much.

It rang twice before someone picked up. "Hello?" the voice on the other end asked, a bit gruffly.

Jack swallowed. "Tony," he said hoarsely.

There was a long moment of silence. Jack could only imagine what was going through the other man's mind. "Hey, Jack," Tony Almeida finally said, sounding cautious. Worried, too. Just a little. Jack supposed he should be surprised at that, or touched. Something. "How are you doing?"

A real question, too, Jack thought. Not just small talk. Tony had tried to apologize once for not keeping a closer eye on Teri that night at CTU. For not seeing Nina for the traitor she'd turned out to be.

Jack had tried to point out they'd both been fooled. Tony didn't deserve to carry any of the guilt. That was Jack's, and he wasn't going to share.

"Jack?"

"Still here," Jack croaked. Forcing the words out hurt, and he started to regret doing this. He should be leaving the younger man alone, letting him heal. Tony had lost someone too, even if the someone he'd lost had been a lie, a mask hiding a woman who'd used him just as coldly as she'd shot a pregnant woman in the stomach. "I just--" No, this wasn't going to work. He tried to sound apologetic. "I'm sorry, Tony. I shouldn't have--"

"Jack, don't hang up," Tony said quietly, insistently. It was the way he'd always argued, Jack thought suddenly. Not one for explosive displays of temper, Tony. Maybe that was one of the reasons they'd never gotten along. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jack lied. No problem, Almeida. Just calling to say hello. Right.

Tony gave a soft, humorless chuckle. "Sure." Another hesitation, and then a question Jack had half-expected. "How's Kim?"

"With her grandparents. It's better for her." Better than being here with him. They'd both come to that conclusion the week of the election. They hadn't argued, just--accepted that she wanted to get on with her life, and he didn't feel the same way. "How are you, Tony?" A little subject change never hurt anyone.

"Hanging in there, I guess." Tony snorted. "Just got a promotion, if you believe that."

The lump in Jack's throat felt frozen, suddenly. "Her old job?" he rasped.

"Yeah."

He should have figured as much. Tony had been the next in line. Of course they'd bump him up to fill Nina's place. "Getting along with George?" He didn't manage not to snarl the question. He might not blame Tony for not keeping Teri safe, but George Mason was another matter entirely.

Tony seemed to know the venom wasn't directed at him. "Better than you used to."

Jack told himself to calm down, and managed a weak laugh. "That wouldn't take much,"

"Yeah." Tony paused again. "What made you call, Jack?" he asked, almost gently.

"I don't know." Another lie. Tell him, Jack thought. Tell him you're thinking of going over to your drawer and eyeing your gun longingly. See how long it takes some sort of retrieval team to show up at your door. The shrinks worried too much about collateral damage when someone with his sort of background lost it.

"It's too quiet," Jack said, and hated himself for the panic he couldn't quite keep out of the words. "I just--I thought I should try to--I don't know."

There was a judicious pause from Tony's end of the line. "You want to get a beer or something?" The question was tentative, as if Tony was expecting him to snarl at him for asking.

Jack laughed again. It sounded a bit hysterical, even to his own ears. "If someone had told me a year ago that I'd ever hear you say that, I'd have laughed at them."

"Yeah, well," Tony said dryly. "Misery loves company."

He shouldn't do this, Jack knew. Talking to Tony was only going to make things worse. They'd never been on friendly terms in the first place, and now there were no safe topics between them. Just ghosts. Two ghosts, one who was dead and one who was as good as.

But he didn't want to stay in the apartment.

"Jack?"

"Yeah," Jack managed. "Where?"

"Why don't I swing by and get you?"

"I've moved, Tony."

Another chuckle, a little real amusement in it this time. "You don't think I know that, Jack?"

"Keeping track of me?"

"I try to keep track of everything," Tony said, sounding perfectly serious. "God's in the details and all. I could probably recite your new postal code if you want. Just give me a second."

"I bet you piss George off." The image was almost amusing. Mason had always been a little sloppy when it came to the finer details. Having Tony there to point that out must be a bitch. Poor George.

"I do my best to stay one up on him," Tony admitted. "Learned from the master, you might say."

There was a touch of respect there, something Jack hadn't expected to hear. His eyes burned, and he blinked steadily, struggling for control. "You think we can find a place with no Christmas music?" he finally asked, knowing his voice was suspiciously hoarse again, and not caring.

"We can try,"

"Okay."

fin


End file.
